t at the best of times a
strict adherence to the uniform regulations is not a fetish of those
serving on board the vessels of the Auxiliary Patrol. They are, it is
perfectly true, granted a sum of money by a paternal Government
wherewith to purchase their kit, but brass buttons and best serge suits
do not blend with life on board a herring drifter at sea in all
weathers. Sea-boots, oilskins, jerseys, and any old thing in the way
of trousers and headgear are far more fashionable. Indeed, one may
occasionally happen upon a skipper wearing an ancient bowler hat when
well out in the North Sea and away from the haunts of senior officers
who might possibly take exception to his battered tile.

But they all took their job seriously, though, like most sailor folk,
light-heartedly. They were inured to the sea and its hardships; many
of them were part owners of their own craft, even the man in the red
Salvation Army jersey tittivating the six-pounder gun in the last
little ship of the line.

Exactly how they "strafed" the immoral and ubiquitous Hun submarine it
is inexpedient to say. They had their little guns, of course, but were
full of other 'gilguys' evolved for the same laudable purpose during a
period of nearly two years of war. Moreover, the men were experts in
their use, and that their 'gadgets' often worked to the detriment of
Fritz may be deduced from that gentleman's extreme unwillingness to be
seen in their vicinity, and a casual inspection of the records of the
Auxiliary Patrol probably locked up somewhere in Whitehall. Some day
these records may be made public, and then we shall read of happenings
which will cause us to hold our breath, and our hair to bristle like a
nail-brush. Who has not heard the story of the unarmed fishing boat
which attacked a hostile periscope with nothing more formidable than a
coal hammer, or the ex-fisherman who attempted to cloud Fritz's vision
with a tar brush?

Striving to encompass the destruction of the wily submarine is by no
means a one-sided game. Our small craft generally manage to have a
credit balance on their side, but Fritz is no fool, and is not the sort
of person to go nosing round an obvious trap, or to walk blindfold into
a snare. Sometimes he mounts larger and heavier guns than his
antagonists, and may come to the surface out of range of their weapons
and bombard them at his leisure. In such cases the hunters may become
the hunted, and may perchance be 'str